


Stolen Innocence

by Orchyd Constyne (slarmstrong)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Body mutilation, Castration, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slarmstrong/pseuds/Orchyd%20Constyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thavron falls in love with the Master Bard of Gil-galad's court, but he learns of a harsh loss Lindir suffered in Daeron's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Memories are shown between "/////" and "/////".

/////

_His parents had been so pleased, so honored. He knew he should be as well, but he wasn't. He was frightened. The young minstrel did not know what happened to the children Daeron chose, but they were always taken away from their families._

_He didn't want to leave his Nana and Ada!_

_With a heart racing with fear, the child followed his father down one of Thingol's many halls. His mother had kissed him farewell earlier, tears streaming down her face. He had almost begged to remain behind, to stay with his Nana, but the stern resolution in his father's eyes told him that no amount of pleading would change his fate. They had walked in silence, and it was only when they stood outside the large doors that led to the Tham Linnod -- Hall of Singing -- that the child began to fear. It was an elite guild, headed by Daeron himself, but not many children were permitted membership with the guild._

_Now he was among those with the special dispensation of both parent and King, allowed tutelage among the Masters of Music._

_"Ionen," his father whispered as he crouched down so his eyes were level with his son's bright blue gaze. "We love you, and we will see you soon. I promise. You are so very special, and I hope you will one day see what we see."_

_His father kissed him, stood up, and knocked on the thick wood. One of the doors swung inward and the darkness beyond seemed like a yawning gulf of blackness daring him to enter, to be swallowed whole. He began to tremble, clung to his father's thigh, but he was pushed away, toward that ominous gloom._

_"No!" he screamed, his fear overwhelming in its intensity. "No, Ada, no! I want to go home! I want Nana!"_

_No words came from his father as he picked his sobbing child up. The young minstrel wondered if this meant he would go home, but his father took those last few steps the he could not. He felt his father's arms let go of him, depositing him in the iron grip of another Elf. He shrieked as only a child could, and clutched at the air, but there was nothing to cling to._

_The door creaked closed and the shadows surrounded him._

_He was alone._

/////

The minstrel was seated before the large hearth, his pale, feminine features highlighted by the orange glow. The soft strains of music floated around the room as he masterfully played the pedal harp the High King so loved. The hall was silent, all listening to the gentle tune that was complimented perfectly by Lindir's clear soprano voice as he wove a complicated tale of lost love and forbidden bonds. All eyes rested on the tall, golden-haired Elf, but only one pair stared with more than simple, mindless adoration or appreciation.

Thavron was enthralled by Lindir and watched the Elf's hands lightly pluck at the myriad of strings. When his hands moved higher on the harp, Thavron's eyes were drawn to the singer's lips. Straight, white teeth, moist red lips -- Lindir was sensual, even if he didn't realize it. Thavron had watched Lindir each night since his arrival in Gil-galad's court. He was a carpenter by trade, but he served in the reserve guards as an accomplished swordsman. He had come from the Green Wood, leaving his family after Oropher and his son had come to their home. The Sindar of Oropher's troop had spoken of the Elvish realm of Lindon, and Thavron had longed to see the city and the sea. It had not taken him long to settle into a routine and make many friends, and he soon found himself the only carpenter commissioned by the Guild of Strings. That was how he had met Lindir.

From the moment he had spoken with the Master Bard, Thavron had known this was the Elf his faer had been waiting for. He was an exotic sort; Lindir was taller than most Elves, and he had slim, delicate bones. He was no warrior, and Thavron had never thought of the minstrel as anything but a minstrel. His hair was long and golden, reaching the gentle swell of his backside, and it framed a long, lean face. If one had dressed Lindir in a woman's frock, the bard could easily be mistaken for one of the fairer sex. But, dressed in his tights and tunic, there was no mistaking Lindir for anything but male.

He had begun to work closely with Lindir. Since he was not a musician, and the instruments he worked needed to be properly tuned, it was Lindir who took to the chore of checking all the finished pieces. Lindir personally tuned each work of art Thavron created, and it was through these tuning sessions that Thavron learned all he could about the minstrel.

It was a disappointment when Lindir would stop their conversations when they became more than idle chatter. All Thavron knew of Lindir was he had been born in Doriath and taught by Daeron. He would never speak of his parents, his years under Daeron, or anything outside of current events and where he was from. It was an endless source of mystery and frustration for the younger Elf, who had only heard of the magical realm of Doriath as a child when the elder Elves would whisper amongst themselves.

He continued to watch Lindir, his affection for the soft-spoken, slender singer growing with each passing day.

*****

As the words spilled from his lips and his fingers mindlessly strummed the melody, Lindir was aware of eyes on him. Yes, he was used to the interested stares he received during these evening sessions, but this was not a simple, interested gaze. It was heavy, almost oppressive, and it only took one glance up to see who the gaze belonged to.

The carpenter-warrior.

Such an odd combination, Lindir mused. An Elf who could both create and kill. It was not something he was used to seeing, a dichotomy of the spirit he did not possess and could not understand. Thavron was almost a daily companion in the afternoons, but it had only been recently that the Elf had begun to visit the main hall while Lindir performed.

He stopped playing and stood, his limbs slowly coming to life as he bowed to the applause. The eyes followed him hotly as he crossed the floor and knelt before the High King, receiving praise for his performance. It was all mechanical, all done before, only this time, a pair of eyes the color of a stormy sea watched his every step. Even after closing the door between the hall and the corridor, he could still feel the weight of that gaze.

And he was no longer certain he minded it.

/////

_It was a long night as he tossed and turned in the small, narrow bed. He cried himself to sleep, whimpering for his Nana to come wake him from the nightmare he now found himself in._

_Before dawn, the ritual began._

_They woke him, three Elves all dressed in navy, and dressed him in a white gown. None of them spoke to him, no matter how much he sobbed and pleaded with one of them to tell him where his Nana was. When he sat on the floor, refusing to move until they brought him his Nana, the tallest Elf, whose silver eyes flashed with annoyance, picked him up in arms as cold as the floor. He thrashed in the male Elf's arms, kicked and screamed as high and loud as his little voice would allow him, but it was all in vain._

_In the balmy heat of an underground spring, he was immersed into the deep, warm water. His gown floated around him in the sour smelling liquid, and he wiped at his face with his sleeve. There were more adults around him, all chanting softly in a language he did not understand. A woman in gold robes, her hand gentle and soothing on his heated brow, bathed him tenderly. She hummed softly, a different tune than the other cloaked figures, and the child found himself calmed into an almost trance-like state._

_His gown was removed and his skin scrubbed with salts. When he was cleansed, he was gently patted dry with a thick towel, and then rubbed with a sharp scented oil. It made his skin tingle, and he was still content until the Elf slipped her hand between his parted thighs. His eyes went wide and he shrieked, but the other Elves quickly held him as the female smeared more of the oil over his private area. His panic swelled again, and he twisted in their arms, hoping the oil had made him slippery enough to squirm out of their grasp._

_It did not happen, and the female disappeared with the bottle of oil. The male Elf who had carried him into the pool reappeared, taking him from their arms. There was a slightly ajar door where orange light wavered beyond, and the Elf started toward that room._

_His fear then stole his voice._

/////

Lindir sat on a low wall that faced the inlet the large palace straddle. The pounding of waves could be heard beneath the structure, but Lindir was focused on the melody he expertly played. His fingers danced effortlessly over the smooth metal of the flute, his song light and melancholy. The clouds overhead were muted and grey, the air chilled with winter's early kiss. Still, the Master Bard played on, his flesh untouched by cold or weariness. He was a statue on the high wall except for the movement of his fingers and the gentle sway of his hair.

He was deep into the crafting of his song, a tale that unfurled with painful slowness in low, staccato notes, but millennia of training had taught him to be aware of all around him no matter involved he was in his music. Lindir knew immediately when those clear blue eyes, that heavy, heated gaze, fell on his back. He did not stumble; he did not miss a single note, but his heart raced in his breast. Closer and closer he crept, and Lindir couldn't help the small smile that curved his lips. He refused to turn, though, not until his song was complete.

The Elf was behind him when the last notes died in the cool breeze. He kept his eyes trained on the gloomy horizon, but he finally acknowledged the carpenter-warrior's presence.

"Thavron," he called softly, his voice much higher than most his age. "You are far too old for spying."

There was a rustle of leaves and then Thavron was beside him. "I did not mean to spy," Thavron tried as he also sat on the wall.

Lindir put the flute aside and smiled at Thavron. "What did you intend then?"

Thavron hung his head as red stained his cheeks. "My intent was simply to be near you."

It was now Lindir's turn to blush. "Are you finally stating your intentions toward me?" Lindir teased through his embarrassment.

"Aye," Thavron said with all sincerity. "I wish to court you."

Lindir felt as if his heart had stopped; he had never thought the carpenter-warrior would ever actually court him! His hands were clenched in his lap, and his vision of the horizon became blurry. Oh, yes, he was fond of Thavron... more than fond, but Lindir felt such shame in his being, his past forever a brand upon his skin, that he could never submit to a courtship. He cleared his throat and blinked back the tears before turning to face Thavron's hopeful eyes with a gentle, sympathetic smile on his face.

"I cannot permit a courtship, Thavron. I am the Master Bard of the Guild of Strings; I have many things that prey on my time and prevent me from settling with a mate. Please, forgive me if I presented a different situation when I encouraged you in your daily visits to the Guild."

Thavron's expression was carefully crafted, but Lindir saw the pain in his eyes. Lindir wished it could be differently, but he had his secrets, and he was not prepared to risk his heart by taking the chance that Thavron could understand all Lindir had survived. Lindir could not stop himself from reaching out, from touching the smooth paleness of Thavron's cheek. "I am sorry I cannot give you what you so want, meldir."

Thavron leaned into the touch and sighed sadly. "Is there no hope?"

"None," Lindir said as he released Thavron's cheek, his hand falling back into his lap. "I have no time for love."

The carpenter-warrior nodded. "I had to risk your rejection. May I still sit with you in the afternoons?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course! I always look forward to your company. It is a most welcome distraction during the most tedious time of my day." As he spoke, Lindir realized the statement was quite true and not merely a way to soothe Thavron's wounded pride. If Thavron ceased his daily visits, Lindir knew his heart would grow heavy with the loss and the hours would become long and unbearable.

Thavron slipped from the stone wall, landing with a soft tap on his sole onto the pavement. He bowed deeply, his dark tresses almost brushing the ground. "Until the morrow, my Lord Bard."

Lindir nodded and watched Thavron's receding figure until even the blue-black shine of his hair was lost in the distance. He picked up his flute again, took a deep breath, and began reweaving his musical story.

Only now, there was a hint of hope in the sad notes.

*****

He could not seem to force Thavron from his mind. After a week of sitting uncomfortably beside the carpenter, tuning the latest instrument to perfection, Lindir decided to leave the safety of his Guild hall and seek out Thavron in his workroom. Lindir cautiously entered the Guild of Crafts' halls, wandering down the long, wide corridor. Many rooms and side halls led away from the main path, but Lindir did not stray. He knew he could become easily lost in the maze of halls. Lindir could smell the scent of fresh shaved oak, of the fire of the forge, and the musty, sharp scent of leather hide. Each Guild hall had their own unique scents, smells that permeated the very stone walls, but Lindir rarely ventured far from his instruments and sheet music, and so the scents of the Guild of Crafts was overwhelming and new to him.

Lindir was not certain which of the rooms he passed could belong to Thavron. He was beginning to question the sense of coming after Thavron instead of simply waiting for the carpenter-warrior to visit after the mid-day meal. Lindir sighed with frustration and turned around; he would leave the Guild hall and wait for Thavron to come to him. He would never find the Elf among all the rooms, and Lindir had not seen anyone since entering the Guild.

"Master Lindir?"

Lindir spun around, his golden hair flying like wisps of silk about him, and found one of Círdan's journeymen exiting a side hall. "Half," he said, bowing his head respectfully.

"My Lord, it is a surprise to see you navigating our halls," Half observed as he approached Lindir. "Have you lost your way?"

"No, I have not left the main hall, so I know my way out, but I am unable to locate the workroom Thavron would be using this day," Lindir explained, despite his embarrassment.

"Thavron?" the silver-haired Elf asked, shifting the heavy looking canvas sail he had been carrying. "There were no instrument requests, were there?"

Lindir shook his head. "Not until we admit the new students in the Spring."

Half nodded as he motioned for Lindir to follow him. "Then he would be in Helechir's workshop. Thavron is a year behind in his glassworking apprenticeship, so I am certain he took the opportunity away from the Guild of Strings to complete the tasks he has allowed to lapse."

"Glassworking?" Lindir was puzzled; he had thought Thavron was nothing more than a gifted carpenter. Yes, Thavron served as a warrior under Glorfindel and Elrond, but Lindir had not known of the additional Crafts apprenticeship.

"Aye," Half replied as he opened a door near the end of the long hall. "Thavron aspires to be among the Masters. Being one yourself, you should know that he must complete training in all fields of his Guild. He has already completed woodworking and leatherworking, and he was to study glassworking and metalworking over a ten-year, but he stopped his metalworking studies in favor of becoming the commissioned carpenter for the Guild of Strings. As such, he is now behind the other Elves who were to move onto gemworking and weaving next winter."

Lindir shook his head. "Are you saying that he was so close to completing his training in metalworking and he stopped in order to fulfill the needs of my Guild?"

Half smiled and waved Lindir into the room. "That is what I am saying. It will now take him an additional ten-year to complete all his studies -- if he does not come back to your Guild in the Spring." Half brushed his hair out of his face and pointed into the gloom. "Go through that door," he said as he pointed to a thick metal door, "and to the right. Thavron should be at the furnace."

He thanked Half and opened the door, amazed at how easily it swung on its hinges. There wasn't a sound to alert Thavron to Lindir's arrival, and Lindir walked into the smoky, dim room beyond the door.

The first thing Lindir noticed was the humid heat of the large room. Natural light filtered through the open windows, allowing some of the cooler Winter air into the stuffy chamber. A bank of furnaces were situated at the far end of the room, each stoked to glowing orange. Working between the large furnaces and an odd bench was a lone Elf, expertly handling a long metal pipe with half-formed glass on the end. The molten glass and Thavron's movements were mesmerizing, and Lindir's eyes could not leave the scene, the elegant dance of craftsman and craft. Thavron's long, dark hair had been bound away from his face, which glistened with a sheen of sweat and was smudged with soot. A heavy leather apron protected his front, just as thick work boots protected his feet, but his hands and upper arms were exposed where he had rolled back his sleeves. It seemed off he did not work with gloves, and as he scanned the room, he saw the leather work gloves carelessly cast onto a marble bench.

Lindir watched Thavron blow through the pipe, forcing the soft glass at the end to expand. He dipped the glass back into a furnace, constantly spinning the pipe, and came back to the bench, continuing to work and form the liquid glass. Colored glass was spun into the clear glass, and soon Lindir saw a beautiful red and gold pitcher take shape. When the handle was added, Thavron broke the area of glass where the pitcher met the pipe, and then took the pitcher to a marble bench. There he seemed to make some final decisions and held the finished piece up to the light. Lindir heard a harsh curse, and the newly formed pitcher shattered against the wall nearest the younger Elf.

"Why did you do that?" Lindir heard himself asking.

Thavron looked over his should and stared at Lindir with frustrated, stormy eyes. "It was flawed."

"And it therefore deserved to be smashed?" he asked, though Lindir was not certain he wanted an answer to such a question.

"No less than perfect, Master Bard; is that not your own beliefs?" Thavron asked as he sat heavily on the bench. "It does nothing to further my skills."

Lindir approached him, a gentle smile on his face. "Every imperfection helps lead us further down the path of perfection."

Thavron looked up at Lindir, his face pinched with anger and resentment. "Somehow I doubt you never tore at a composition of yours."

"I do not remember doing so," Lindir remarked, crossing his arms and gazing out the window at the soothing courtyard. Oh, he did remember. He remembered destroying a whole music room full of instruments and compositions in a rage. He remembered throttling his rival for performing more masterfully before the King. He remembered many instances of jealousy, anger, and an uncontrollable sense of failure.

But, these were not things he wished to share with Thavron, not while the Elf was so distraught.

"You are a liar, Lindir, but I will not press you for the truth."

Lindir turned his eyes to Thavron, his brow knitted with confusion. "How do you know I lie?"

Thavron just smiled. "I know you, and that is all I need to know." The dark Elf wiped his hands with a damp rag from the bench. "Why are you here? I have never seen you in my Guild."

"I," Lindir began, but he could not provide any answer, any excuse for his being in Thavron's workroom. He blinked a couple of times, closed his mouth, and the tilted his head as the reason for his visit hit him like a blow to the chest. "Why," he said with a chuckle, "I came to see you."

"For?" Thavron prompted.

Lindir met Thavron's eyes and saw a spark of renewed hope in their depths. "For you. Just for you." The smile that lit Thavron's face made something warm and inviting unfurl in Lindir's belly, and while there was a sense of fear mingled with that warmth, Lindir refused to give into it.

/////

_The room was small, and in the center of the room was a raised table. The child's frightened eyes took in the sight of the legs that were higher than the table itself, and the straps._

_He was quickly tied to the table, his legs spread wide and raised, bound to the smooth wood. His privates were bared to all in the room, but his arms were tightly restrained and he could not cover himself. He sniffled again, the tears squeezed out of the clenched corners of his eyes. The child shivered with both terror and cold, but none of the adults seemed to notice._

_"I want my Nana," he hiccoughed, his eyes darting around the darkened faces._

_"Hush, child," the female whispered. "Open your mouth; good boy. Now, bite down on this."_

_A thick piece of wood was fitted between his teeth, and the woman remained behind him, holding the wood in place. One of the Elves knelt between his spread legs, and the child felt cool, slick fingers probe his loose scrotum. He whimpered, gazing up with pleading eyes to the female, but her attention was solely on bent figure._

_He felt pressure against the thin skin protecting his underdeveloped sac, and then searing pain._

_His screams were heard throughout the Hall of Singing._

/////

The Winter passed slowly, but Lindir enjoyed the long hours he was able to spend with Thavron. Thavron would still spend his afternoons in the heated warmth of Lindir's practice room, listening to the minstrel sing, but the mornings were spent in the moist heat of Thavron's glass workroom. After Half had told him of Thavron's lapse in his apprenticeship, Lindir insisted that Thavron study regularly. There were no more shattered glass pitchers, plate, vases, or any other masterpiece. If Thavron found some flaw that was invisible to Lindir's eye, Lindir would demand that the dark Elf give him the piece for his own collection. His personal chambers quickly filled with all of Thavron's rejected pieces, and though Lindir would look for an entire evening, he never saw the imperfections Thavron did.

Lindir also found himself taking his meals with Thavron, steadily forgetting his reluctance to be courted. He actually began encouraging Thavron's hesitant advances. But, in the back of his mind, Lindir always remembered how Thavron never looked for the beauty in his flawed pieces; all the Elf ever saw was the defects and faults.

"Why did you choose to master woodworking first?" Lindir asked in the hours following their evening meal a month into their unvoiced courtship. They were in a comfortable position on the lone divan in Thavron's chambers: Lindir was stretched the length of the cushions with his head resting in Thavron's lap. The carpenter had been reading while absently combing Lindir's hair with his fingers. Lindir was unable to look away from Thavron's shadowed face, captivated by the slightest change in the younger Elf's features.

Thavron put the book aside and smiled down into Lindir's face. Lindir had decided weeks ago that there was no expression more lovely than when Thavron smiled at him, and it never failed to bring a matching smile to Lindir's lips.

"My Adar is the Master Carpenter for King Oropher. From the moment I was able to use the small block plane my Adar made for me, I was in love with wood. I could take a block of wood and create anything my mind could conceive, and it was so satisfying. It was only when I came here, to the Guild of Crafts, that I realized there were other crafts that I could do, other raw materials I could take and shape into pieces of art." Thavron's eyes had taken on an intensity Lindir had not noticed before, a spark of something primal and glorious. He had not felt such passion for his own art in many centuries, if ever, and he envied Thavron's ability to still find such pleasure.

"And you wish to become a Master Craftsman?"

Thavron's smile seemed to become strained. "Whatever it takes, I will be. It is necessary for me to master all the trades, to have the same patch on my arm that you wear."

Lindir furrowed his brow. "Why is it so important to you? It is a strain on even the best students..."

"Yet you have been able to master all aspects of music," Thavron pointed out.

"At a terrible price," Lindir snapped back, sitting up and glaring at Thavron. "I have suffered greatly to become what I am, and I would not wish such a fate upon my worst enemy."

The carpenter gazed at Lindir, a long, hard stare that soon felt like a scrutinizing inspection. Lindir shifted uncomfortably and refused to meet Thavron's eyes.

"What is it you sacrificed, Lindir? You have hinted at such a loss before, but you refuse to confide this burden to me."

Lindir shook his head. "No, Thavron. Not yet."

"But soon?" Thavron asked softly.

The minstrel still kept his eyes averted, his heart hammering in his chest. "Soon."

*****

Their first kiss came with the first buds of Spring. It was something Thavron wished to remember for the rest of his days. After fighting it for so many months, Lindir had permitted him to speak the words his heart had screamed for years. With the last Winter Rose in hand, Thavron had leaned in, whispering three words that brought crimson to Lindir's pale flesh.

Moist lips met, and Thavron had tenderly swept Lindir's closed lips with his tongue. The question had been asked, and Lindir answered it by parting his lips and allowing Thavron the first honeyed taste of him.

When they drew away, Lindir could not stop the bubbling laughter in his throat, and Thavron's soul was lighter to hear the lyrical sound. Hand in hand, they walked through Gil-galad's gardens, speaking quietly of all that would happen when the thaw was complete. Thavron's heart was saddened that they would no longer have the days together now that Lindir was about to take on twelve new students, but he was reassured by Lindir's insistence that his evenings still belonged to Thavron.

Each evening, they shared dinner, spoke of the day's activities, and discussed what the new day would hold for them. Thavron soon fell into a relaxed routine with Lindir, but there was a sense of foreboding he felt when in the minstrel's presence. He was certain Lindir withheld something of great importance from him, but he could not figure out what the puzzle Lindir presented him with. Instead, he focused on the kisses, gentle touches, and tender loving they were able to share each night before they retired to their separate chambers.

With the last breezes of Spring floating through the open windows, Thavron pressed Lindir into the mattress of the minstrel's bed. Their kisses were languid, and Lindir's whimpers fueled Thavron further in his desire. He nuzzled the crook of Lindir's neck, nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin as he drew more moans and cries from his lover. As he untied his lover's tunic, Lindir arched up and spread his legs wantonly, and Thavron rubbed his clothed erection against the minstrel's exposed groin. Lindir stiffened in his arms, his cries ceasing abruptly. Thavron propped himself up on his elbows and gazed down at Lindir's tense face.

"What is it?" he asked, kissing Lindir's flushed cheek.

"Please move," Lindir demanded in a low, trembling voice.

Thavron smirked, thinking Lindir was only nervous since this was farther than they had ever taken their petting. He reached between their bodies and tugged at the ties of the Lindir's leggings. The golden-haired Elf acted as though he had been burned and yelped, squirming his way out from under Thavron. Thavron sat up, his own shirt untied and his arousal prominently displayed by the thin fabric of his leggings. "Lindir?" He attempted to inch closer to the frightened Elf, but Lindir held out his hand, silently stopping Thavron's advance.

"Lindir," Thavron said as he stayed his distance. "This is not the first time you have stopped our lovemaking. What is it you fear?" He was confused and frustrated, and it was made all the worse because Lindir would not voice his obvious troubles.

Thavron was taken aback when Lindir raised his head and his eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I fear _you_ ," Lindir whispered before he hid behind his long hair again.

"Why would you fear me? I would never do you harm, melethen," he said as he crept closer to Lindir.

Lindir's laugh was bitter as he scrambled off the bed. "I have given you my heart against my better judgment. I knew you would want us to merge our bodies, but I cannot do as you desire."

"Do not be daft, Lindir. I did not court you only to bed you." Thavron stood up from the bed and walked to closer to Lindir. "Let us try this again." Thavron reached out his hand to draw Lindir closer to him.

"No!" Lindir screamed as he slapped Thavron's hand away. "You do not understand. You, who would shatter all your exquisite glass pieces because of some imperceptible flaw, would do the same to me."

Thavron gaped at Lindir. Had he heard the Elf right? Did Lindir honestly believe his love so fickle? "Lindir, what are speaking of? You _are_ perfect! I would not cast you aside."

The tears slipped down Lindir's cheeks with painful slowness. "Oh?" Thavron watched Lindir's shaking fingers fumble with the ties of his leggings. The fabric slipped down his narrow hips, along his slim thighs, revealing...

"By the Valar," he hissed with dawning horror as he stared at Lindir's genitalia. "What have you done to yourself?"

/////

_The pain bowed his back, his jaw bit down on the stick of wood unconsciously. The woman held his shoulders against the cold, smooth table while the Elf between his legs opened his body and withdrew what would have one day made him a father._

_He screamed, fought the bonds and the hands, and his tears flowed unabated. It was a terror, a pain so intense he would never forget. His young mind revolted at the atrocity that was being done to him, at what his parents had delivered him to, and his eyes rolled up into his head._

_His body relaxed, his screams ceased, and all that could be heard in the chamber as the Elf carefully sewed the child up, was the soft drip of the new minstrel's blood as it was collected in a basin under the table. When he woke, he would be forever changed -- caught between a child and an adult, never accepted, always revered._

/////

"Done to myself?" Lindir cried. "I did nothing to myself! What you see is what my _parents_ allowed to be done to me!"

Thavron could not tear his eyes away from Lindir's groin. His organ was flaccid, hanging limp against his body. But, where that small piece of flesh should have been nestled against the full sac of a grown Elf, there was nothing. Smooth skin, a tiny scar he could barely see in the light, and an underdeveloped shaft. It was as if he were looking at his young cousin who still had yet to reach his majority. Lindir's lower regions resembled that of a boy, but even that was not a sufficient enough description, not with the missing tissue that would have enabled Lindir to sire children.

Lindir choked on a sob. As much as it hurt, he continued the explanation he hoped he would never have to give. "There were ten of us. I was the last. We were all gifted with musical talent, with beautiful vocal ranges. Daeron took each of us, cut us off from our families, removed what would one day make us truly male, and then set to schooling us in all aspects of music. We were his until the fall of Doriath; only then were we set free." The minstrel yanked up his leggings, hiding his shame. "They tore away our innocence, mutilated our bodies, and doomed us forever to this sham of a half-life. And why? To 'preserve the purity of our most precious instrument'. Simply to keep our voices high!"

Thavron felt a rage begin to boil in his chest, an inexplicable fury toward Lindir and this horrific revelation. "Why did you not tell me from the very beginning, Lindir? Why lie to me? How dare you keep this from me!"

"I chose to hide it hoping you would learn to love me in spite of what was done to me, Thavron." Lindir stepped forward, his hand hovering out toward Thavron. "Please, Thavron. I love you, and you have sworn your own love to me. What difference does this make between us?"

"What difference? Lindir, you are not male! That was cut away from you! If I desired a female, I would take one to wife, not find an emasculated minstrel!" Thavron retied his tunic and turned away from Lindir, shoving his feet into his boots. He said not another word as he fled the room before his ire could cool.

*****

"You have stopped visiting our Guild, my Lord Carpenter."

Thavron lifted his head from his task of polishing a glass dove he had made the previous day. "I am not needed in your Guild, Dinenlir," he replied as he returned to polishing the trinket. "Why are you here? If my services were needed, a page could have delivered the request."

Dinenlir chuckled. He was old, older than most in the Guilds, and he had taken a shine to Thavron the first time the wide-eyed Elf had entered Gil-galad's palace. But, the child was impetuous and still so very young. He had tried to console Lindir with such words, but his dear friend was heartbroken. "I did not come to request your services, Thavron, and you know this. I have come to discuss someone who is important to us both."

"I am not sure I know whom you speak of," Thavron said dispassionately as he turned the dove in the light.

"Yes, you do," Dinenlir insisted as he hopped up atop the marble worktable and crossed his legs. "You have done Lindir a terrible wound, pen neth."

Thavron glared at Dinenlir, but the dark-haired minstrel only raised an eyebrow elegantly. "He lied to me."

"He did not lie to you. He merely hid his shame as long as he could, and when he shared his secret with you, you did exactly as he feared. You rejected him. I am here to ask you why." Dinenlir's tone was mild, calm, and he knew how that serenity was infuriating to most of those much younger than himself.

"Lindir should have told me from the beginning," Thavron mumbled petulantly.

Dinenlir chuckled. "Tell me, little carpenter, how was he to broach such a topic? 'Excuse me, you wish to court me? Please, allow me to drop my leggings and reveal to you the marvel of mutilation I have endured.' No, Thavron, one does not reveal such a hurtful past to all who propose to love them." He watched Thavron closely, but the younger Elf chose not to speak. Dinenlir sighed and leaned back; he knew what he wanted to say to Thavron, he just needed to say it.

"I want to tell you a story, Thavron. There was a boy, no more than twelve years into his life, and he was a gifted poet. Even at such a young age, he could compose large, complex sonnets. By the time he had fifteen years accumulated, he could write vast musical scores without much trouble. His voice, though, his voice was a prize. He could reach such ranges that even Thingol's Master Bard, Daeron himself, was impressed.

"This child was chosen to be the first of several children who exhibited such gifts. After conferring with Thingol's Master Healer, Daeron discovered a possible way of forever preserving the range these children could vocally reach. He discussed this procedure with the boy's parents, and though they worried, they also recognized the opportunity their son would be presented with. In the dark of night, the child was taken to Daeron's rooms in the Hall of Singing, and there he was stripped, bathed, and mutilated."

Dinenlir turned his eyes to Thavron and saw tears in the carpenter's eyes. "I was the first of ten, and Lindir was the last. We were revered in Thingol's court, Thavron. We were praised by those who heard our songs. We were called Linnyn Egleriennin -- the Glorified Singers. But, inside, we were tainted, our innocence stolen in one swipe of a blade. We called ourselves Ristar, the Cut. Under Daeron's tutelage, we were initiated into Buiad i 'Linnas, and we lived, breathed, ate, and slept the Way of the Music."

Thavron closed his eyes, and a tear slipped from under his lashes. "How could any of you survive such a thing?"

"We focused our rage and hatred into the music. It was our only outlet. We survived. Some of us were able to accept our fates, while others could not. Lindir and I are the last in Middle-earth; the others sought the peace of Aman to heal what wounds they could." Dinenlir wiped the tear from Thavron's cheek. "My story ends happily, Thavron. I have a wife who looked beyond the physical imperfection and saw the spiritual companion of her soul. We may never have children, but we are happy with one another. I have come to terms with what was done to me. Lindir has not.

"He offered his heart to a woman hundreds of years ago. He had hoped she would do as my wife had done, see past all the flaws. She did not. Once his shame was exposed, she broke off the engagement and left him a broken Elf. Lindir has never again shared his heart.

"Until you," Dinenlir said softly. "He exposed his shame, you have broken off the courtship, and he is now a broken Elf once more. Is one broken heart not enough for him to endure in his lifetime? He did not lie to you, Thavron. He tried to lie to himself. If you were a female, I could see your objection. Children are very important to us. Yet, you are a male -- you will not bear children, and neither will your lover. What care do you have if he does not possesses that one thing that you do?"

"Dinenlir," Thavron began. "I love him. The more I thought about him, the less it seemed to matter. My heart just hurt for him, for what he has endured." He looked up at Dinenlir, his eyes reflecting a strange mixture of understanding and pity.

Dinenlir leaned close to Thavron. "Do not look at him with such eyes, Thavron. He does not need or want your pity, but he does want your love and understanding."

"It is too late. I have done him grievous harm with my words and rejection..."

He smiled indulgently. "Nothing matters but love, Thavron, and harsh words do not smother love's kiss."

*****

Lindir's legs were drawn up close against his chest and he rested his brow on his bare knees. He had just come from a bath, but he could not find the incentive to dress. The minstrel just stared out the window at the verdant grass and the vibrant flowers that devoured the Summer sun's warm light. How was it that even in the midst of Summer, Lindir felt as cold as when Winter's winds howled through the halls?

He was so wrapped up in his misery that he did not hear the door to his chamber open or the soft footsteps of the approaching Elf. Only when a warm hand was placed on his cool shoulder was he pulled from his reverie. Lindir gasped and was standing before he could even understand that it was Thavron who had touched him. "Thavron?" he asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" He glanced around him, searching for his night robe so he could cover his body, but Thavron stopped him.

"No, please, meleth, do not cover yourself. This is the first opportunity you have given me to see you in all your beauty," Thavron whispered reverently.

"I am not beautiful," Lindir spit out spitefully. "Do not toy with me, carpenter. My heart has taken all the beating it can tolerate. Do not seek to shatter it as you do with your imperfect glass pieces."

Lindir watched warily as Thavron crossed the space between them, taking him into his warm arms. "I do not toy with you," Thavron murmured into the delicate shell of Lindir's ear. "I love you, my beautiful singer."

Somehow, Lindir was not sure how, he was spread out on the mattress, his legs spread and his shame painfully visible to Thavron's eyes. He hid his face in the quilt, his tears cool on his heated cheeks. Lindir felt the bed dip under Thavron's weight and then gentle fingers traced the supple contours of his thighs. He turned his head in frightened wonder, turned to see Thavron place tender kisses on his knees and the inside of his thighs. He sighed and closed his eyes, shivering with need when Thavron's tongue traced hot patterns along the sensitive flesh of his legs.

Hot breath came close to the center of his need, and he could not stop his reaction. Lindir clamped his legs tight, pushing Thavron away. "Please, Thavron," he pleaded.

Thavron would not relent. He parted Lindir's quivering thighs again and pressed his lips to the thin scar under Lindir's sex. The minstrel mewled as moist heat touched a part of him no one had ever dared to touch, and he felt his arousal throb. He was not as long or as thick as most males, but there was enough of him for Thavron to grasp and stroke as he lapped at the smooth skin from the base of his shaft to the indent of his backside. Lindir writhed, a burning in his veins he had never known could exist, and he trembled with his desire.

He did not know what he was begging for, but beg he did. Thavron's tongue pushed into his tight heat, and Lindir bucked up, spilling himself over Thavron's hand in a small, clear stream. The dark Elf lifted his head, smiling wickedly at the flushed minstrel. "Have you given yourself to any other?"

Lindir shook his head. "Nay," he panted. "While we fondled with each other, none of us thought to... to be together in that sense."

Thavron nodded. It occurred to Lindir then that Thavron was nude, that he must have shed his own clothing when Lindir had hidden his face in the quilt. His eyes moved slowly over Thavron's well-honed body, resting finally on the thick, heavy length jutting from the carpenter's body. "Thavron?" he asked in a voice that seemed very far away.

"Aye?" he replied, crawling onto the bed with a small pot of salve Lindir kept near the bedside for his hands.

"You cannot mean to place that where I think you do."

Thavron laughed, kissing Lindir deeply. When the minstrel was breathless and squirming, Thavron sat back between Lindir's legs. "Oh, but I do. It will fit, and it will be wonderful." He cupped Lindir's face lovingly. "Trust me, meleth. I will never hurt you again," he promised quietly.

All tension seemed to drain out of Lindir with Thavron's words, and he lay back on the mattress. Thavron placed a pillow under Lindir's backside. "This will make the angle better for us both," he explained as he circled the puckered entrance with a slick finger.

Thavron was skilled in his movements, thrusting fingers carefully inside Lindir, teasing him with mouth and hand until he cried out for a second release. Lindir was fearful when the blunt head of Thavron's sex prodded at his well-lubricated entrance, but the loving warmth in his lover's eyes soothed those fears. Lips locked again, and as Thavron's tongue possessed his mouth, so did his shaft possess his body. He tensed immediately, whimpering into the kiss as Thavron continued to push into him, but he was held close, his lip nipped and sucked at.

"Shh," Thavron whispered as he withdrew for the first time. He thrust into the heated depths with a groan, and Lindir's cry of surprise made him chuckle. "You liked that?"

Lindir could only pant and nod, followed by another loud moan as Thavron moved inside him. It was a feeling of connection, of belonging, that Lindir had never known he could share. He clung to Thavron as his body was taken and remade, as his soul was purged of loneliness and self-doubt. He was loved, and he knew Thavron would forever be by his side.

Slick heat engulfed his erection at the same time Thavron embedded himself as deeply as he could, touching the very core of Lindir with his salty seed. His own body quaked with orgasm, and his tears were slowly kissed away by his lover.

"I am not flawed," he sobbed into their kiss.

Thavron brushed the damp strands of hair away from Lindir's face. "No, my love, you are not flawed. You are perfect."

The End


End file.
